


It's Not the Waking, It's the Rising

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Ambiguous genitals but leaning toward afab, Multiple Orgasms, Non-binary Reader (They/them pronouns used), Other, TW: Depression/Depressive Epsiode, TW: Mental Health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: During a rough depressive episode, Muriel struggles to understand how to help you. Together, you decide that the best way to comfort you and show his love is for him to eat you out and ravish you until you forget your own name.





	It's Not the Waking, It's the Rising

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an anon request on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights). The request was "Muriel comforting/loving up on a nonbinary!apprentice during a rough depressive episode by like? 👀eating them out and fucking them until they forget their own name?".
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: This work features a reader/MC dealing with a depressive episode. Suicide/thoughts are NOT in this work, however the symptoms of a depressive episode are shown and discussed. Please do not read if you do not feel comfortable with this or if you are not in a healthy, happy state of mind.

“Love?”

Muriel’s voice stirs you from the doorway, but not enough to lift your gaze. There’s a crumpled pile of your clothes in the far corner of the room from earlier in the week. You’ve been tracing it’s outline with your eyes for hours, pausing sometimes when even that become a little too much.

He says it again, a little louder, and your eyes sweep shut so slowly. There’s another voice. You think it’s Asra.

“Have they been eating?”

“Sort of. I think they had soup. Bread, maybe? Salasi’s. But I don’t…it was a while ago.”

“Muriel. It’s alright. They’re strong, even though they may not seem it now. They just need you, someone there to help them, understand them, comfort them. Be with them even when they say they don’t want it.”

Muriel pauses. “I…I can do that.”

“No one else I know could. Go to them. I’ll come back in the morning with Ilya.”

You want to tell Asra to leave, tell Muriel to leave, neither of them can see you like this.

Your mouth is dry. You know you need water. But you also need more sleep.

Heavy footsteps enter the room. You hear Muriel shrug off his coat.

Asra knew all of your tells, always helped you watch your triggers, your self-care, he was so patient and understanding and you felt so safe with him.

This thing with Muriel, though…as beautiful as it was, it was still so fresh, so new, that he didn’t know what to look for, didn’t know how to help. You had seen it on his face when it had first started to settle, when you had slept in a little too late, then napped, then skipped lunch, forgotten to douse the fire at the shop before you had left because your mind had been so addled and yet so fuzzy.

“Asra says he’ll come back in the morning,” Muriel says to you. He waits for your answer, and you murmur a response.

“Did you want some more of the soup?” He asks.

It takes you about five seconds, and then you force out, “Sure.”

You hear him shift on his feet, open your eyes to watch him shuffle. You tug the blankets a little tighter around yourself, force your voice to be level as you say, “Muri, it’s okay. You can go home. You should.”

Even those words are tiring, and the effort of them is wasted. He bristles, his frustration clear even though he’s trying to very hard to hide it from you.

“I don’t understand. What—how am I supposed to help? What caused it? Is it something I can take away so it won’t happen again?”

He crosses to the bed, hovers over you. Reaches for your hands and pulls you up. You let him do it, your muscles aching at the movement, and tuck your hair behind your ear. The movement is slow.

“What can I do, my love?”

You just stare at him, eyes heavy. Your gaze drops down to his lips, and then away.

He shouldn’t be trying.

And he’s right to feel frustrated, after all, it’s what you would be feeling if you could. He’s been here all week watching you, putting off other things he needs to get done. Who would want to put up with this? Someone who can’t even answer the simplest of questions, give out a single yes or no?

“That’s not true,” Muriel growls.

You frown, just barely, wondering how you had managed to say any of that but not give him a single-word answer. Pathetic.

“I didn’t need to hear you say it, my love. I know you inside and out, you are everything I need and want, of course I can see your thoughts even if you don’t have the energy to show me with your lips or your brows or tell me with your words. I know all of you.”

He puts his forehead to yours, you nod to him.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I’m not…I promise I’m not doing it on purpose. I just want to sleep. Can’t I just sleep?”

“You’ve been sleeping. A lot.”

You swallow, throat dry. “You shouldn’t be here when I’m like this.”

“I belong nowhere else.”

“I told you to go!”

You snap it, voice cracking a little, and the feeling of frustration that bubbles inside of you—at him for not leaving you, at yourself for wanting him to, at your fucked up mind for doing any of this—is almost terrifyingly foreign, a swell of emotion you were not prepared for that you stuff and cram back inside of yourself until there is nothing but blackness again.

“I know all of you,” he tells you again, murmurs. “And I love all of you, every piece no matter how dark or wounded. Your words, your body, your mind, even as it punishes you and makes you think things you can’t control.” He brushes your bottom lip with his thumb, kisses you softly. “Tell me what you need. What can I do? If I take your mind off it, will that help? Is that what you need?”

You shrug, nod.

“Lay down,” he tells you.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“Lay down. Right now.” His voice is firm, almost dominating, and you don’t have the energy to fight him on it. He places a hand on each of your knees, drawing small circles on the insides. “I’ll bring you back, I’ll make you feel, even if only for a moment. I’ll fuck it out of you until you’re screaming and sobbing and you can’t even remember your own name.”

You inhale, slow and careful, as he parts your knees. He kisses the inside of each thigh before lifting your hips and drawing down your underwear and the shorts you had pulled on a few days ago.

“Let me tell you all my favourite things about you when you are spread out like this before me,” he murmurs into your skin.

You nod, just to appease him, just to let him know you are there, that a small part of you is peeking out from the darkness, waiting to see the light.

“It’s when your thighs shake as I tease you.” He grazes his teeth against. “The way your lips part as you sigh.” He kisses a little further up. “The flush of your cheekbones as I praise you.” And that is certainly there now. “The way you look down at me like I’m your sun and moon, your sea and sky.”

You nod, a little more to the movement this time, and you look down at him, your eyes meeting. He is at the apex of your thighs now, lips so close to where he promised to be, where he wanted to try and make you feel.

He waits for you there, waits for you to completely process what you’ve agreed to, waits to give you the chance to back out, but you just nod, and then he dives in like a feral beast.

His tongue runs the length of you while his hands pin your thighs down, the tip of his tongue circling your hole as he moans against you, savouring your taste and heat. His hands comes up to tease you, one finger gently testing and probing you while the other hand moves around between your legs, finding every sensitive spot he knows.

As he’s lapping at you, as his fingers slip into you and crook and pull and spread you apart, you shake and sob, fingers digging into his hair, telling him its already too much, your chest is so tight, too much emotion all at once but you need it so bad, you know that if you feel too much you can become so blissfully numb, forget his name, forget your own name, forget the world.

His fingers pull out of you and he smooths his hand up your body, arm long enough to reach your mouth. He pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. You take in the two fingers he is offering you, biting the fingertips and suckling softly.

“Look at me, my love.”

You do, and you shudder. He is feasting on you with slow, long sweeps of his tongue and lips, the sound absolutely filthy and wet and carnal, a growl rolling in his chest with every movement he makes.

You whine in your chest as your orgasm approaches, your body coiling like a spring, your muscles (already aching from disuse) screaming at the action.

You let out a sob as you crash, and he keeps devouring you, his fingers and hands moving around, guiding you, coaxing you, showing you every way he knows how to love you.

You try to push him away, gasp out that it’s too much, your body is so sore, your mind is turning numb, but he keeps going, keeps feasting, growling into you, the sound coming from low in his chest.

Your back arches, fists ball in the sheets as a second orgasm takes you. You sob his name. You try to push him away again.

“Please—_please_—”

But you aren’t asking for anything. He keeps going.

You come again, again, _again_, until you can’t count, until your voice is raw from your screams and sobs, until everything about you is numb except for the place he is, his mouth devouring you, wet noises as he laps at your hole, as his fingers probe and push and spread you apart.

Your cheeks are wet with tears, and you hardly notice it until he finally pulls away and starts kissing up your body. When he reaches your chest, the tightness there seems to have dissipated a little, but he doesn’t give you much longer to think on it.

He lines the head of his cock up and pushes into you completely in one smooth movement. You cry out as he sets an immediate and brutal pace, his fingers almost crushing your hips in their grip, tiny purple bruises already starting to form on your skin.

You keen and gasp and babble and sob, and with each new tear that falls and each sob that erupts from your chest, your body unravels, the tightness on your chest, that feeling of something dark and impossible and unknown sitting on it seems to fade to the back of your mind, just for now, just for this moment, along with everything else you have ever known, except this—the feel of his cock, large and thick and stretching you and taking you so deep that it seems as though he might never escape.

You come again, hands to your face as you try to keep yourself in check, try to hide the mess you have become, but he rips your hands away and pins them to the bed.

“I love you,” he growls. “_I love you_. Do you know that? Tell me you know.”

You nod as he talks, hurried and jerking movements.

“I know! I do—you love me, I—"

“Let it out, let everything out, do whatever you need to make yourself feel better, my love—”

You scream and curse and sob as you come one last time, the world going a spotted black for a few seconds, brought back only by the feel of him coming inside of you, his seed warming you, filling you, marking you.

Your breaths are short gasps as you come down, as he twitches and empties inside of you. You barely register him taking your chin and crushing his lips to yours, sweeping his tongue in, claiming you.

Everything after is a little fuzzy. A little wonderfully so.

He doesn’t pull out of you, stays fully seated as he softens inside of you, rolls you both onto your sides and pulls you into his chest.

You think he asks you if it helped.

You think you nod.

You think some of the weight is still there on your chest - actually, more than a little, but it’s less than before, and Muriel is cradling you, cocooning you, stroking your hair.

He might not entirely understand how or why your mind does what it does, the dark ways it speaks to you and changes your world so savagely and suddenly, but you do know this – he will be there with you every step of the way, helping you, protecting you, making you forget if it’s what you need.


End file.
